Black Moon

by Romina Russell

  I can’t help thinking of Cancer and all the truths and treasures and traditions that sunk to our planet’s seafloor.

  When Hysan told me the black opal was Cancer’s Talisman, he said Guardians leave behind messages in their homes for their successors to find . . . only we’ll never know the last words of our Holy Mothers.

  The ambassador’s velvety voice brings me back to his office. “Right away I want you to know that I have no leads on your mother’s whereabouts yet.”

  Even though I was expecting this answer, my whole heart seems to crumble. I don’t know how it could have contained so much hope when I only contacted Crompton a couple of days ago.

  “I don’t mean to be brusque,” he says, “but I didn’t want to pain you with what we Aquarians call dullatry—the courteous chitchat that delays important conversations—when this matter weighs so heavily on your heart.”

  “I appreciate that,” I say, trying to sound unbroken.

  But I must fail because Crompton continues in a too-cheery voice, “However, we’ve just started this search, and I don’t plan to give up yet, and neither should you.”

  “I know, Ambassador,” I say, at last lifting my gaze from the gold-trimmed desktop. “It’s just—finding a single person who could be anywhere . . .”

  “Is difficult, but doable.” His pink eyes brighten with warmth as he says, “Without hope, tomorrow is just another day.”

  I want to believe his compassion is genuine, but I know better by now. The senators at the Plenum only care about me insofar as they can use me. If Sirna can’t be trusted, no ambassador can. “There’s something else I need to say. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful—your help means a lot to me—but I won’t be used by you and the Plenum anymore.”

  Crompton’s expression goes from compassionate to confounded. “I don’t understand.”

  “Your Peace declaration. You used my name to push an agenda I don’t believe in. You put lies in my mouth.”

  Crompton’s brow furrows with a show of consternation that could be completely feigned. “Ambassador Sirna contacted us with assurances that you were in agreement with our assessment. On my honor, Wandering Star, I would never use your name in vain.”

  His concern about my name reminds me of how meaningful the concept is on the Eleventh House; when an Aquarian becomes a Zodai, she loses her birth name and adopts a new one that’s given to her by her Clan, consisting of a single, personality-embodying word.

  I can’t decide what to make of Crompton. On Vitulus, when I testified to Ophiuchus’s existence, he was the first ambassador from the non-believing Houses to stand up and cross the aisle to my side. He was also the one who gave me the Wandering Star title. The pre-Aryll me would probably approve of Crompton, maybe even like him . . . but I can’t trust my judgment anymore.

  The ambassador rises to his feet. “I wish you a wonderful time at tonight’s ball, Wandering Star, and safe travels wherever your journey leads. I will be in touch if the need arises.”

  “Oh.” It takes me a moment to stand.

  He gives me a quick bow, and I’m flustered by his abrupt attitude shift and my sudden dismissal. I half-consider apologizing, since I still need his help to find Mom, but then I freeze at the sight of the white-haired, willowy woman who’s just entered the room.

  “Supreme Advisor Untara,” I say, reaching out with my hand for the traditional touch greeting. I met her when all the Guardians were summoned to Phaetonis; she came along with Morscerta and the House’s six-year-old Supreme Guardian. “It’s an honor to see you again.”

  She doesn’t raise her arm, and behind me Crompton says, “Supreme Advisor Untara is a hologram.” His tone, while tender, is tenser than before.

  Untara looks so real that she must be transmitting from inside the castle, like Dr. Eusta used to do on Oceon 6. This kind of mobilized holographic projection is only possible in places that have been pre-outfitted with transmitters, like government buildings and corporate offices, and only the highest-ranking officials are generally authorized to move around so freely.

  She continues to look at me for a long moment before bowing her head the slightest bit. “Wandering Star Rhoma Grace. You honor us with your presence.” Her voice is strikingly high. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”

  “I came here to learn more about the Tomorrow Party.”

  “How wonderful.” Her eyes are as gray and heavy as this morning’s sky. “And is Ambassador Crompton the one teaching you?”

  “I was just welcoming her to our House is all,” says Crompton, his tone still cautious. “However, we’re finished here, so I am at your disposal.”

  At this second dismissal, I say, “Thank you for your time.”

  Untara watches me silently until I’m gone.

  12

  NAVIGATING THE PALACE’S PASSAGES AFTER my meeting with Crompton gives me flashbacks to the Moonstone Maze on Elara, and after hitting my twelfth dead end, I touch my Ring and reach out to Mathias.

  I’m lost.

  Do you seek physical or metaphysical guidance?

  I grin, even though he can’t see me. Any chance you can beam a map of the palace into my brain?

  I can do better. Meet me in the Collective Conscious.

  I close my eyes, and the sandstone walls around me are sucked into blackness. I’m here, I announce to the void.

  There are a few shadowy forms nearby, but none of them pays me any attention. A small light grows larger on the far horizon, approaching me at breakneck speed, and before I can pull away, the Psynergy signature races right into me. With a jolt, I open my eyes.

  Mathias’s sculpted face is at arm’s length from mine. “Hi.”

  Breathless, I touch his sleeve to make sure he’s real, and my fingers feel hard muscle. “How—how did you do that?”

  “It’s a protective measure the Royal Guard employs when they need to find their Guardian urgently, but it only works if they’re in close proximity.” A dark lock of hair pokes into his eye, and instinctively I reach up and brush it back for him. “Thanks,” he murmurs in a lower register, and I lock my hands behind me to resist doing it again.

  “How does it work?” I ask to dissipate the tension.

  He starts walking as he explains, and I fall in stride with him. “Guardians possess a close connection to the stars, which means they naturally attract more Psynergy than other people. Within the Psy, Psynergy possesses gravity-like properties; if someone commands enough of it, they can warp the network. So if a Zodai and Guardian have a strong connection, and they’re both attuned to the Collective Conscious, that Zodai can allow himself to be guided by his Guardian’s Psynergy.”

  “But I’m not a Guardian anymore—”

  “I guess no one informed the stars.” The playful look on his face makes me think of Helios’s Halo, the last time I saw Mathias smile. I’d like to see that sight again.

  “So what are you up to?” I ask as we approach the star-high entrance hall. I have no clue how he managed to navigate us here.

  “I’m going to pick up Pandora and bring her to the palace.”

  Her name is an icy wall slamming down between us. Mathias seems to feel the cold front, too, because he adds, “She wanted to check out the Party. And Nishi said it was okay. Imogen said she could room with her tonight.”

  I shuffle my blue frock from one arm to the other. “Oh. That’s good.”

  His shoulders sag a little, and his hair falls into his eyes again. “I was actually looking for you earlier to see if you wanted to come with me, but Nishi said you were meeting with Ambassador Crompton. What did he want?”

  “Diplomatic stuff,” I say evasively, not wanting to get into the whole Mom thing right now. “And I’d love to go with you.” The thought of seeing Candor again is incentive enough, but I also feel a need to be there when Mathias and Pandora reunite. Maybe I’v
e developed a taste for torture.

  Mathias straightens, and his tone lightens. “Pandora will meet us at a marketplace on the border between the Royal and Nightwing Kingdoms. We’ll fly the Pegazi over.”

  “How do we call to them?” I ask as we step onto the waterfall plaza and I pull on my coat.

  “We don’t. If we’re meant to fly them, they’ll find us.”

  Right as I’m about to ask what he means, a set of aqua and gray steeds trots over from around the side of the castle. “That’s impossible,” I whisper, staring agape as Candor approaches.

  “Aquarians are very protective of the Pegazi, so it’s hard to know much about them,” says Mathias softly so the velvet-clad valets don’t overhear us. “They don’t allow animal experimentation, no matter how much scientists from other Houses offer to pay to study these creatures, but they do have a fascinating philosophy about them.”

  His indigo eyes seem to absorb the grayness of the horse’s hide and the overcast sky, making them glint like lead. “They believe that since the Pegazi attract so much Psynergy, they’re perpetually in sync with the stars and aware of everything that’s about to happen. Aquarians think that’s how Pegazi determine whom to bond with, and where to travel, and when to show up. They move not through space, but time.” He gives me a hand climbing onto Candor. “Their movements are guided by fate.”

  • • •

  We soar over the vast ocean toward Primitus’s southern hemisphere, and as I hug the Pegazi’s neck, I wonder if it’s true these creatures know the way everything will unfold. The thought makes me feel like I’m riding a shooting star.

  Candor and I fly in companionable silence, and cradled into her spine I’m comforted by her warm hide, her gentle wings, her star-proof heart. A primordial instinct begins to stir within my Center, like I’ve been touched by the essence of House Cancer, the survival skill at the core of every Cancrian: Candor’s nurturing nature reminds me of maternal love.

  I’m not sure how long we’ve been flying over the low-lying ocean when the horizon suddenly grows teeth: Mountains serrate the skyline, drowning the land below in shadows. If the Royal Kingdom was designed in a dream, Nightwing was born from a nightmare.

  The spiky coastline of curvy and crooked peaks looks lethal, and it suddenly makes sense why the Pegazi only roam Primitus’s northern hemisphere. Instructor Tidus touched briefly on Nightwing for her lesson on the Zodiac’s best seers—since most come from here or Pisces—and I remember she said the people of this Clan live on mountaintops to be close to the stars.

  Candor circles around the largest summit where there’s a small, open-air market, a landing pad, and a Pegazi paddock—but no spaceport or fueling station or anything to hint at much inter-House tourism. The two Clans that share Primitus are notoriously insular, so I wouldn’t be surprised if this planet doesn’t get many visitors.

  Candor’s hooves thunder across the rocky earth of the paddock as she lands, and soon I hear the gray horse’s echoing movements. There are no other Pegazi here, and as I look around, I realize every Aquarian face is staring our way.

  The moment we dismount, a pair of aqua-clad Elders—a man and a woman—materialize at our sides. “Identification?”

  Mathias and I each press our thumbs on the small screens they hold out to us, and when my holographic tag comes up—Wandering Star Rhoma Grace of House Cancer—they gaze at me curiously but don’t ask questions.

  “Where’s Pandora meeting us?” I whisper to Mathias as we follow the Elders out of the paddock.

  “She said she’d find us,” he says, and we enter a sparsely attended marketplace. We cut through a grid of stands tented with heavy fabrics that sell everything from clothing to sustenance to Zodai supplies. Mathias dawdles by a delicate display of ivory Ephemerii, and I cast my gaze around, only I’m not searching for Pandora.

  I’m looking for the Aquarian face from my visions.

  Could that be why Candor was destined to fly me here—to reunite me with Mom?

  My eyes alight on a dark stand at the end of the row draped in a black fabric so opaque that it swallows all surrounding light. The material makes me think of Dark Matter.

  “Wandering Star.”

  I turn to see Pandora, whose waterfall of auburn hair swallows everything but the amethyst orbs of her eyes. She bows to me before bumping fists.

  “Nice to see you again, Pandora.” She’s wearing a charcoal frock that’s almost identical to mine, and an overnight bag is slung over one of her shoulders.

  Mathias comes up beside me, and Pandora’s dusky violet gaze glides up to his. She shyly holds her fist up to him for the hand touch, and he smiles—Mathias smiles—and pulls her in for a hug instead.

  Seeing his toothy grin, I’m sharply reminded of the boy I watched in the solarium, the one unburdened by death. Pandora’s pale skin blooms with color, and I suddenly feel like I’m intruding on a private reunion. The air grows chillier, and I cross my arms to keep warm. I shouldn’t have come here.

  “So your parents were finally okay with you coming?” Mathias asks her, and from his tone it’s clear there’s a history to this conversation.

  Pandora tips her head down, like her family’s worries are a physical weight. “It wasn’t easy,” she says in a small voice. “My sister is trying to help them understand . . . .”

  Mathias reaches over and gently brings her chin up, like he’s helping her bear her burden. And I hear myself say, “I’m going to take a quick stroll to check out the stands.”

  “Rho, wait,” says Mathias, his forehead furrowed with concern as I start to walk away. “We’ll come with you—”

  “No.”

  The word comes out harsh, so I add, “You guys catch up. I’ll be right back.”

  I head down the line of storefronts, and I pretend to be interested in a case of flashy jewelry a few stands over, until at last I hear the low murmur of their conversation resume. Then I carefully peek back at them.

  Pandora is fidgeting with her Philosopher’s Stone, but Mathias’s stance looks noticeably relaxed, like he’s comfortable in her company. Stan was like that with Jewel at first, and so was Deke with Nishi—before either guy recognized his feelings were more than friendly.

  How could Mathias have said all those things to me on the flight to Aquarius when he and Pandora clearly have a connection? Mathias is the most honest person I know—I’m supposed to be able to trust him. And yet, like me, it seems he’s anything but self-aware when it comes to his heart.

  I force myself to keep walking, and when I get to the end of the row, I notice the black tent again. Only this time I spy a pair of white eyes within the folds of darkness.

  A strange jitteriness infects the air between us, like a ripple in the universe’s fabric.

  I edge closer until I’m standing just outside the store’s shadow. But I still can’t make out anything inside besides those eyes.

  My Ring finger buzzes. As I reach down into the icy energy, a raspy voice scratches at my mind.

  Would you like to know your future, little girl?

  I take a step back. It’s considered extremely taboo to break into a stranger’s consciousness uninvited; that usually only happens if a Zodai has a physical disability that makes telecommunication essential.

  The seer’s irises are a frosty blue, so light they look almost white. I know the answer you’re so desperately seeking . . . or should I say the person?

  A small gasp slips past my lips, and I step up to the tent’s threshold, as close to the darkness as I dare. Maybe the stars did bring me here to find Mom.

  “I don’t have any money,” I say softly, shame trickling up my face.

  You attract a lot of Psynergy for one so young, the voice whispers into my mind. Would you care to make a trade?

  I have nothing to trade, I say, this time speaking through the Psy, mostly s
o my voice won’t give away my discomfort.

  I’ll tell you where you can find her . . . if you’ll give me some of your Psynergy.

  I shiver and repress a second gasp. I’ve heard stories about a black market for Psynergy, but I never believed it was real. I thought it was just something that happened in movies and holo-shows.

  “No, thank you,” I say out loud.

  Are you so certain your Psynergy is more valuable than your time?

  The eyes move closer to me, but I still can’t see anything else. I’ve never heard of a fabric that can soak up light this completely.

  Death is eager to have you.

  The vision from yesterday paralyzes me with terror, and I can almost feel the omen’s putrid flavor filling my mouth again—

  “Rho.”

  Pandora’s cold fingers close around my arm, and she pulls me into her stride, away from those frosty eyes. “Are you okay?” she asks in her misty voice. “You look green.”

  Death’s aftertaste is gone from my mouth, and I try focusing on my surroundings: We’re walking toward the Pegazi paddock. “Where’s Mathias?”

  “He spotted another Cancrian and wanted to talk to him.”

  “What . . . what was that black stand?”

  “Dangerous,” she says in a hushed tone. “There are seers who dabble in a deadly practice called Psyphoning—they channel another person’s Psynergy so they can See more in the Psy. Only it’s a very delicate process that requires lots of mental control, and too often the seer takes too much Psynergy, and the drugged person stays trapped in their mind forever.”

  I’m too revolted to respond, but thankfully we’re at the paddock, and Pandora is distracted by the Pegazi. “I can’t believe you bonded with your own Pegazi. They rarely do that with someone who isn’t of the Royal Kingdom.”